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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371265">Keep On Falling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin'>DelilahMcMuffin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>50 First Dates AU, M/M, Memory Loss, mentions of past trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:01:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The 50 First Dates AU that you never knew you wanted.</p><p>Patrick is new in town. He sees David one morning at the cafe and sparks fly. But there’s something about David that Patrick doesn’t know. Will it keep them apart? Or will love overcome all obstacles, even when it has to start from scratch every day?</p><p>Title is taken from <i>Falling</i> by Alicia Keys</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Meet Cute</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyflowdi/gifts">ladyflowdi</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick sat at the counter and smiled at the friendly waitress as she refilled his coffee cup. </p><p>“You’re new around here, huh?” she asked, returning his smile. </p><p>Patrick chuckled and lowered his head bashfully. “Wow. That obvious?”</p><p>The waitress reached out and patted his hand. “It’s a small town. I’m good with faces,” she explained. She removed her hand and set the carafe back on the warmer. “Your order will be up in just a few minutes,” she assured him before hurrying off to help a table full of new customers. </p><p>Patrick sipped at his coffee and swivelled around on his stool. The cafe was small but cozy in a shabby sort of way. But they were obviously doing something right - almost every table was full. Either that or this was the only place to eat in this town. Patrick hoped it was the former. </p><p>Most tables had couples or small groups crowded around them. But sitting in the middle booth was a man all on his own, deeply engrossed in a book. He was… well there was no other word for him but beautiful. He was beautiful. A beautiful man. Patrick rolled that thought around in his mind for a moment. Was that something he could say? Were men beautiful? Was that okay?</p><p>Okay or not, Patrick couldn’t help staring at this beautiful man, his thick, dark brows furrowed in a deep <em> V </em> of concentration as he turned the page. His eyes and hair were so dark they were almost black, his hair styled perfectly in a way that Patrick knew few people could pull off. He wore a black sweater with parallel white stripes up the front. He looked expensive and unapproachable and out of place, his exquisitely neat and painstakingly curated appearance somehow not quite jiving with the shabbiness of the cafe’s battered and worn tables, it’s booths with duct tape holding the seams together, and it’s ridiculous tropical theme when there was absolutely nothing tropical about their menu. </p><p>In a word, Patrick was fascinated. In an uncharacteristically bold move, he slid from his stool and into the booth across from the beautiful man (convention be damned. This man was beautiful and no one was going to convince him otherwise).</p><p>“Whatcha reading?” he asked, setting his coffee cup down on the chipped Formica table top. The man peered at him over the top of his book, one elegant eyebrow arching with… annoyance? Intrigue? Patrick hoped it was intrigue. </p><p>The man casually tapped the cover of his book with the tip of his index finger, his eyes returning to its pages. </p><p>“Ah,” Patrick said, feeling like an idiot as he nodded his head, floundering for something - anything - to say. “Haven’t read that one myself. Is it any good?” </p><p>The beautiful man sighed, inserted a black leather bookmark with the letters RA stamped in gold between the pages and set his book on the table beside his as yet unused cutlery. </p><p>“Do you know why I bring a book to the cafe with me?” he asked, and Patrick felt a frisson of excitement race up his spine. Even the man’s voice was beautiful; soft and breathy, but very precise with each word enunciated just so. It was captivating. Patrick was captivated. He shook his head.</p><p>“No. Why?”</p><p>The man rolled his eyes and touched a perfectly manicured finger to his fork, straightening it out so it ran perfectly parallel to his knife. </p><p>“I bring my book,” he said, fixing Patrick with those deep, dark eyes, “So that people will leave me alone.”</p><p>Patrick couldn’t help the grin that started spreading across his face. He was suddenly overcome with the ridiculous desire to make the man across from him smile. He wanted to see those serious, somber eyes crinkle. Wanted to hear that soft breathy voice let out a soft breathy laugh. </p><p>“God, I know right?” Patrick said with a bemused shake of his head. “Some people just can’t take a hint.”</p><p>The man's lip twitched and he narrowed his eyes at Patrick, who was feeling no small amount of satisfaction in eliciting a reaction - any reaction. “Mmm. People can be so oblivious,” the man said, and Patrick couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, the way the man’s lips tucked themselves off to the side in a way that indicated he was trying very, <em> very </em> hard not to smile. </p><p>Needing to know more and sensing he was so close to getting that smile, Patrick stuck out his hand and grinned. “I’m Patrick.”</p><p>The man glanced down at Patrick’s hand, peering at it as if he were looking for evidence of open wounds or festering sores. Patrick would have been offended, but suddenly the man took Patrick’s hand in his - larger, softer, with four thick silver rings adorning his fingers - and a jolt of electricity shot up Patrick’s arm and short-circuited his brain. He suddenly couldn’t remember his own name, where he was from, or anything other than the feeling of this man’s hand in his own. </p><p>The other man’s mouth was moving but there was a pleasant buzzing noise rattling around in Patrick’s head that drowned out all sound. He was suddenly aware that the other man was trying to tug his hand from Patrick’s grasp and he reluctantly let go. He shook his head to clear the buzzing and offered a sheepish smile to the man who was now unapologetically squirting a generous amount of hand sanitizer into his open palm. </p><p>“Sorry… I didn’t mean to…” Patrick grimaced and glanced down at his hand, still feeling the tingling of the other man’s touch on his skin. “Um, I didn’t catch your name.”</p><p>The man rolled his eyes as he liberally coated his hands with sanitizer. “David.”</p><p>Patrick picked up his coffee and took a sip, smiling at David over the edge of his mug. </p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, David,” he said. His heart started beating a little faster when David’s eyes met his and that little lopsided smile tugged once more at his lips. Patrick had done that. He’d put that smile there. He had a feeling David didn’t smile very often and that earning a smile from him - even a timid, hesitant little thing like this - made Patrick feel like he’d just won the lottery. </p><p>He spent the next few minutes counting the number of times David smiled while they talked. Three. Patrick had managed to get three smiles - okay, two smiles and a smirk - out of David in under ten minutes. </p><p>David was tricky to read. He was whip smart and sarcastic, and quick with a sharp retort to the gentle teasing Patrick had initiated. However it was clear that David kept details about himself under wraps, letting Patrick see only enticing glimpses of the whole that made the man. David owned a business in town. His family were permanent residents at a local motel. He had a younger sister. Any time Patrick pressed for more details, David would turn aloof, a veil coming down between them that had Patrick working the next few minutes to get a glimpse behind it once more. </p><p>Patrick explained that he was new in town. He’d needed a change of scenery after a bad breakup and had packed up the tattered remains of his life into the trunk of his four door sedan and hit the road, not knowing where he was going to end up. </p><p>“What made you stop here?” David asked, swirling the dregs of the coffee in his cup. </p><p>Patrick shrugged, thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I… it’s close enough to home that I can still go back if… if I wanted that, but far enough away that people from my old life aren’t going to randomly show up here unannounced.”</p><p>“Ah. So you’re running away from something. Or someone, then.”</p><p>Patrick winced. He’d always been one to face his problems head on. He was a take charge kind of guy and running away made him feel weak, like he was absolutely not in control. He preferred to think of it as starting fresh. And he said so to David. </p><p>David smiled shyly at him. “Well, whatever brought you here, I hope you’ll stay for a while.”</p><p>Patrick felt his insides light up. His stomach swooped and a giddiness he’d never felt before began to bubble from his chest, spreading outward to the tips of his fingers. He was sure he was glowing, and he wondered if David could see how he felt. </p><p>The waitress brought Patrick’s breakfast to the table and offered him a wink before refilling his coffee.</p><p>“David, your usual to go?” she asked and David’s eyebrows shot up.</p><p>“Oh God!” he exclaimed as he drew his phone from his pocket and looked at the time. “I didn’t realize it was so late!” He dug around in his pockets and offered the waitress a contrite grimace. “I’m so sorry. I think I forgot my bank card today.”</p><p>She smiled at him and patted his shoulder warmly and Patrick noted how David didn’t flinch away from the pretty waitress’s touch or suddenly douse his shoulder in hand sanitizer. “I’ll just add it to your tab, David. It’s fine.”</p><p>David nodded brusquely, gathering his things. He glanced over at Patrick. “Um… it was actually very nice. To meet you. So…” </p><p>Panic rose in Patrick’s chest. He desperately wanted to know more about David; see more of him, hear his voice again. But he was so new at this and David was so… God, he really was beautiful. And snarky. And funny. And sweet. And he wanted Patrick to stick around for a while. </p><p>“Um, I come here for coffee every morning,” David was saying now as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket and grabbed his book and his phone from the table. </p><p>“To read your book,” Patrick noted and David’s lip twitched again. </p><p>“Mmm. Yes. To read my book.”</p><p>“Maybe I’ll bring my book tomorrow and we can read together.”</p><p>David bit his lip, that inquisitive eyebrow raised once again. He nodded. </p><p>“I’d like that.”</p><p>“See you tomorrow David.”</p><p>“Bye, Patrick. See you tomorrow.”</p><p>Patrick watched as David stopped by the counter to get his take away coffee order, then paused by the door to glance quickly over his shoulder at Patrick. And then he was gone. </p><p>And oh man, Patrick was in trouble. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The 1st First Date</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jesus! He was a grown man! A grown, 30 year old man with an MBA and a car that was paid off, and a wardrobe filled with reasonably priced, practical button-down shirts and sensible jeans. He was not the kind of guy who… who what? </p><p>Patrick let his head fall forward with a satisfying thunk on his notepad. Wasn’t the kind of guy who did what? Ran away from his sensible, practical life? Flirted with tall, dark, handsome strangers? Flirted with men? Was literally counting the seconds until he could see that beautiful, beautiful man again?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time he had finished his breakfast and paid his bill, Patrick was already counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until the next morning. </p><p>As he walked the few blocks back to the house in which he rented a room and worked for an overly chatty and entrepreneurial man named Ray, he could still not believe he’d been so forward with David. </p><p>It wasn’t like him at all. He’d never felt confident enough in himself - and, to be honest, never felt interested enough in someone - to put himself out there like that. And maybe that was the thing, really. He’d never been overly flirtatious with Rachel or any of the other girls he’d dated. And on those rare occasions when they’d been flirty with him, it had never felt like that, not like it had with David. </p><p>With David it had felt electric. Patrick had felt it in his bones. In the roots of his hair. In his fingers and toes. Definitely in his pelvis. David looking at him, smiling at him, the feel of David’s soft hand in his. </p><p><em> This wasn’t supposed to be happening. </em> Patrick had come here for a fresh start. He was newly single after finally ending things with Rachel after over a decade of their on-again-off-again relationship during which, despite its longevity, Patrick had never really felt comfortable. Sure, Rachel had been his best friend. But she’d wanted, needed and deserved more from him than he was able to give.</p><p>So he’d come here to this little town where he could start anew. He’d barely unpacked his bags, and here he was, shamelessly flirting with the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. The fact that the beautiful specimen had been a man was… well, it certainly explained a few things. </p><p>The morning passed in a kind of haze. Patrick sat at his desk, one form blurring into the next, his brain completely on autopilot. Glancing down at the notepad in front of him, he realized he’d been doodling in the margins and he felt his cheeks flush with heat. The name <em> David </em> was scrawled over and over again, like a teenage girl with her first crush. All that was missing was a little heart in place of the dot above the <em> i. </em></p><p>Patrick ripped the page from his pad and crumpled it in his hands. He tossed it into the waste paper basket next to his desk and leaned forward, raking his fingers through his hair. Jesus. <em> Jesus! </em> He was a grown man! A grown, 30 year old man with an MBA and a car that was paid off, and a wardrobe filled with reasonably priced, practical button-down shirts and sensible jeans. He was not the kind of guy who… who <em> what </em>? </p><p>Patrick let his head fall forward with a satisfying thunk on his notepad. <em> Wasn’t the kind of guy who did what? </em> Ran away from his sensible, practical life? Flirted with tall, dark, handsome strangers? Flirted with <em> men? </em>Was literally counting the seconds until he could see that beautiful, beautiful man again?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The rest of the day went by painfully slowly. Time was not on his side, as the minutes seemed to last for hours, the hours for days. Finally it was nine o’clock and Patrick felt like he could get ready for bed without feeling like he was giving up on a wasted day. </p><p>He washed his face and turned on the shower. Stepping beneath the stream of hot water, he reached for the soap and began to lather it up beteeen his hands, rubbing it over his chest, his armpits, working his way down his stomach. He got to his dick and stroked a sudsy hand along his length. The image of David sitting across the table from him sprang to mind and he tightened his grip on his cock, stroking himself again, long and slow and firm. Glancing down, Patrick couldn’t believe he was hard already. It had been weeks since he’d felt any kind of urge to touch himself, and even then it took ages to get his dick interested. But after two strokes and the image of David in his mind, he was hard and throbbing, a tingling heat building in his pelvis. </p><p>“Fuck,” Patrick whispered to himself. He stroked himself again, flicking his wrist when he got to the head of his cock and biting back a groan. His hips moved involuntarily, bucking into his hand and he increased his pace. He reached out to brace himself against the shower wall with his free hand, his knees going weak and wobbly as his insides tightened and then he was coming into his fist, panting and gasping for breath as his orgasm exploded from his groin, little ripples of pleasure fluttering throughout his body until he let go of his cock and stood panting as he watched the water swirl away down the drain.</p><p>Thirty years old and Patrick had <em> never </em> come so hard in his entire fucking life. The thought made him both happy and sad. Sad because he’d wasted decades of his life thinking that there was something wrong with him. And happy to know that even after all that wasted time, he still had the potential to really, <em> really </em> enjoy sex.</p><p>He raced through the rest of his usual shower routine, which consisted of little more than his 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner combo. Getting out of the shower, Patrick toweled off, his knees still a little wobbly from his orgasm. He wrapped the towel around his waist and brushed his teeth, examining his reflection in the mirror. </p><p>He still looked the same. Plain ol’ Patrick. But he sure didn’t feel the same. He felt exhilarated and a little nervous. It wasn’t that he had never considered the idea of being attracted to men before. With his complete lack of enthusiasm for sex with women, it had pinged on his radar in the past. But being <em> this </em> attracted to one <em> particular </em> man was a little overwhelming. And very, <em> very </em> exciting. Patrick bent and spat into the sink, rinsing off his toothbrush and setting it back into his cup on the counter, then he went to his room, closing the door behind him. He got into his pyjamas and got into bed. </p><p>He lay staring up at the ceiling, his stomach swooping with nerves. It felt like it was Christmas Eve and he was six years old waiting for morning so he could race downstairs to see what Santa had left him. Except instead of an overweight, jolly old elf, he was looking forward to seeing tall, smouldering, fascinating David again. Patrick closed his eyes, his mind whirling with possible ways he could coax that elusive smile from David’s lips again. He fell asleep dreaming about those lips, the way they looked when they smiled, the way they might feel against his skin...</p><p>Patrick opened his eyes to see that the light had changed in his room. It was no longer evening, the soft grey light coming through his curtains indicating it was sometime very early in the morning. He looked over at his phone charging on the nightstand beside his bed. Five o’clock. He moved to roll onto his side and winced, a thrill of painful pleasure rolling outward from his groin. He let his hand slip down to the front of his pyjama bottoms, his eyes widening in surprise to find he was fully hard and <em> leaking </em>.</p><p>“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath as he let his hand slip under the elastic waistband of his pyjamas.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Patrick was out of bed, showered and dressed by six o’clock. Ray was still not up yet, so he went downstairs and tried to catch up on some of the work he’d fallen behind on yesterday while he had been distracted. But he fared no better this morning, thoughts of his upcoming breakfast with David looming over him. After twenty minutes of staring off into space, Patrick gave up. He put the papers on his desk away and grabbed his coat, keys and phone and walked out the front door. If he was going to stare aimlessly off into space he might as well do it at the cafe. </p><p>Pulling into a space on the empty main street, Patrick turned off his car and suddenly realized he hadn’t grabbed his book from his bedside table. He smacked his palm to his forehead. He’d teasingly told David he would bring his own book this morning and they could read together. He knew it was a joke - and he hoped David had seen it as such. But now he was here and… God, the cafe wasn’t even open for another half an hour and he didn’t have his book and—</p><p>“Morning!”</p><p>Patrick jumped in his seat. The waitress from the cafe was leaning over smiling at him through the window, her finger poised to tap on the glass again.</p><p>Placing his hand over his frantically beating heart, Patrick pressed the button to roll down the window.</p><p>“Morning!” the chipper waitress said again.</p><p>“Uh, morning,” Patrick replied, his voice still a little shaky. </p><p>“We don’t actually open until seven,” the waitress said. She had kind eyes and a lovely, genuine smile that instantly put Patrick more at ease. “But you’re welcome to come wait inside if you’d like while I get ready to open.”</p><p>Patrick returned her smile. “If you’re sure I won’t be in your way?”</p><p>“It’s no problem! It’ll be nice to have the company!” the waitress said. Patrick got out of his car and she held out her hand. “Twyla,” she said. Patrick took her hand in his and shook it warmly. </p><p>“Patrick.”</p><p>“Are you usually such an early riser?” Twyla asked over her shoulder as she moved to unlock the front door. </p><p>“Um… no. Not as a general rule. No.” Patrick shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands as deep into his pockets as they would go. Which wasn’t far. “I was just… I was up this morning and, uh…”</p><p>Twyla held the door open for him and gestured for him to go in ahead of her. “I saw you chatting yesterday with David Rose,” she said, and for the first time her gaze was appraising, assessing. Patrick realized she was sizing him up.</p><p>“Uh, yeah. Yes. I was.” <em> Rose </em> . David’s last name was <em> Rose </em> . <em> David Rose. </em> That had a nice ring to it, and somehow seemed… the name niggled at something in the back of Patrick’s mind, gently prodding at something in his memories. But David was a very common first name and Rose wasn’t <em> that </em> uncommon for a surname, right? “Uh… he asked me… well, I mean, we decided to meet for breakfast again today. This morning. Here.” He pointed to the booth he and David had sat in together the previous morning. </p><p>Twyla fixed her gaze on him, her head cocked slightly to the side, her eyes narrowing as if deep in thought. Finally, she spoke. “Just… be careful there,” she said softly. </p><p>Patrick’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to ask what on earth she meant by <em> that </em>, when the front door banged open and a large man with a bandana tied around his head and a flannel shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and shoulders walked into the cafe. “Morning Twy!” he shouted jovially. “Hey… guy!” he said, pointing at Patrick. </p><p>“Morning, George,” Twyla said with a friendly wave. She turned to Patrick as George’s substantial frame disappeared into the kitchen. “Have a seat. I’ll get some tea started for you.”</p><p>With a million questions about Twyla’s cryptic message, Patrick slid into the booth he and David had shared the previous day. What had she meant? <em> Be careful there. </em>Sure, David has seemed a bit standoffish at first, more than a little aloof. But he’d seemed to have warmed to Patrick. In the end, he’d come straight out and told Patrick he hoped he’d see him again. So… what was Twyla’s problem? And how was it any of her business if he and David had breakfast together again today? </p><p>Patrick was getting himself worked up into quite the internal snit when an empty cup, a pot of hot water and a small bowl containing a bag of English Breakfast Tea and a small packet of honey were placed in front of him. </p><p>He looked up and Twyla was already walking away. She disappeared into the kitchen and Patrick was left alone with his tea and his thoughts. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Once seven o’clock came and went, the cafe began to fill up. As he poured the last of the tea from the pot into his cup, Patrick realized that he had no idea what time David usually came in for his coffee. Patrick had come in yesterday just after eight thirty. How long had David been here before he’d shown up? It could have been an hour… or it could have been five minutes. </p><p>Patrick was just contemplating whether or not to flag down Twyla to ask when David normally turned up, when he heard the front door open. He looked up in time to see him: <em> David Rose </em> , just as beautiful as Patrick remembered. Clad in… well, it looked like the same outfit as yesterday, but Patrick really shouldn't be one to judge. He wore practically the same thing everyday: Blue button-up shirt, a pair of dark jeans, one of his two leather belts (the brown braided leather was his favourite) and a pair of sturdy and sensible shoes. Maybe David’s wardrobe consisted entirely of black and white, expensive-looking sweaters and - Patrick swallowed thickly - skin-tight black jeans that showed off David’s long, <em> long </em> legs. </p><p>David looked around the cafe and his eyes landed on Patrick. Patrick smiled and raised his hand to wave, only to pause with his hand jutting stupidly in the air when David scowled - actually <em> scowled </em>- at him and stalked over to the booth. </p><p>“Uh, you’re in my spot,” he said flatly, his voice tinged with more than a hint of annoyance and exactly none of the softness Patrick had managed to coax out of him the day before. </p><p>“Uh… yeah. Yes. I, um… I know.” Patrick schooled his features into what he hoped was something resembling a smile, but he was pretty he wasn’t doing it right if the way David’s dark brows furrowed in response was anything to go by.</p><p>“Well?” David asked haughtily, arms crossed tightly across his chest, chin jutting out defiantly. “Are you going to move? Or do I have to get George to move you?”</p><p>Patrick shook his head. “Um… n-no. That won’t… I mean…” Patrick balled his hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. He felt hot tears begin to sting behind his eyes and he turned his face away from David to try and collect himself. <em> What the fuck?!? Why the hell has David being so fucking rude? </em>He took a deep breath, then another, letting each one out slowly before he turned back to David.</p><p>“David, I—“</p><p>“How. The fuck. Do you know.<em> My name </em> ?” David practically hissed, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you? A reporter? A tabloid <em> journalist </em>?” He said the last word with such disdain, practically spitting each syllable. His eyes widened and his expression morphed into something so vulnerable and fragile. Almost terrified. “Did Sebastien send you?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.</p><p>Patrick shook his head, his hands splayed out placatingly in front of him, not sure whether he was trying to calm David or himself. Maybe both.</p><p>“I don’t know anyone named Sebastien,” he said quietly, aware that the sounds of people eating and chatting around them had died out completely. Every eye in the cafe was on them. On <em> him </em>, to be more precise. They were all staring at Patrick. And they didn’t look happy. “And I’m n-not a reporter. I-I’m… I was in here yesterday. W-we sat right here—“ he tapped his fingertips against the chipped Formica of the tabletop, “—and we… we talked. Y-you asked me to meet you here this morning.”</p><p>David scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh sure. Of course I did,” he said, but his voice sounded uncertain. He shook his head and the fragile look was gone, replaced by a scowl that nearly made Patrick flinch. The tears he had so far managed to hold back were on the verge of breaking free and Patrick lowered his head to stare at his lap. “Don’t bother getting up,” David said sharply. “I’ll get my coffee to go.”</p><p>Patrick looked up to see David turn on his heel and stalk toward the counter where Twyla was already waiting with a to-go cup in hand. Patrick watched, his eyes bleary with tears as he saw David patting his pockets then tipping back his head with an angry huff.</p><p>“I forgot my bank card this morning, Twyla.”</p><p>“That’s okay, David,” she said with a smile, handing over his cup. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”</p><p>“Thanks.” David grabbed his cup and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned to look over his shoulder. Something about the way his eyes settled on Patrick - no longer angry, but confused - sent an uneasy shiver down Patrick’s spine. David furrowed his brow and opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to think better of it, opening the door and disappearing out into the chill of the early morning air.</p><p>Slowly, the din in the cafe resumed its usual volume. Patrick sat in the booth - completely devastated - his tea cooling in front of him, his hopes dashed and his heart aching. He ducked his head and swiped at the tears that had finally begun to trickle down his cheeks. </p><p>“Here.”</p><p>He looked up to see Twyla sitting across from him, offering him a stack of paper napkins.</p><p>“Thanks,” Patrick mumbled, his mouth felt too dry and his tongue too large. He dabbed at his face with a napkin and blew his nose into another. Twyla sat across from him, a sympathetic smile on her face.</p><p>“You knew that would happen,” he said, his tone just this side of accusatory. </p><p>Twyla grimaced, averting her eyes. “Well… not exactly <em> that </em>, no,” she replied. “B-but I…” She let out a sigh, her eyes drifting around the cafe. Every table was occupied and people were looking to her to take their orders. “Can you come back around ten thirty?” she asked. “I just… I can’t talk now and I think… well, I think there are a few things you should know.”</p><p>“I don’t really want to come back here, Twyla,” Patrick countered. “Not after that.”</p><p>“Please, Patrick?” Twyla’s eyes were wide and earnest. And Patrick found himself caving. </p><p>“Fine. Ten thirty..” He reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, but Twyla placed a hand on his forearm.</p><p>“The tea is on me,” she said. She gave his arm a squeeze and shot him a wink. Then she was on her feet, moving on to take orders from the next table.</p><p>Patrick slowly slid out of the booth and got to his feet. His eyes glued to the floor in front of him, he made his way to the door and let himself out. Getting back into his car, he headed for Ray’s. Instead of the euphoric anticipation he’d felt on his drive to the cafe that morning, he now felt completely numb. </p><p>It was just almost seven thirty now. He had three hours to kill before meeting Twyla again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his work, so when he got to Ray’s, instead of his desk, he headed up to his room and flopped miserably onto his bed. He set an alarm on his phone for ten o’clock and let his phone drop onto the bedspread beside him. Then he closed his eyes. Images of David’s face swam in his mind’s eye. But instead of the playful, flirtatious half-smile from the day before, David’s face was contorted in anger. Or maybe it was fear. Probably a little of both. </p><p>Patrick couldn’t help thinking that even in anger, David had been beautiful. And wounded. And the thought made Patrick ache from the inside out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello? *taps microphone*  Is this thing on? </p><p>Is anyone out there still even remotely interested in this story? If you are... yay!!! If not, well I can’t say I blame you. It’s been a while.</p><p>I posted the prologue almost 2 months ago with every intention of following up on it much sooner than this. But then my real life came crashing down around me and now the world is going crazy and we’re all in quarantine and... well. You know. </p><p>My point (and I do have one) is that I am sorry for having kept you waiting. And I hope you will accept this very long and introspective chapter as my olive branch to you. </p><p>More to come.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“So, you’re the guy.”</p>
<p>Patrick blinked. When he’d agreed to meet Twyla at the cafe, this was not quite what he’d had in mind. Maybe a quiet tete-a-tete between the two of them. But not this. Not sitting in a booth, Twyla beside him and two women he’d never seen before sitting across the table from them. </p>
<p>It had been the petite brunette with a scowl on her face who’d spoken. It hadn’t been a question, more of a statement. Or an accusation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So, you’re the guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick blinked. When he’d agreed to meet Twyla at the cafe, this was not quite what he’d had in mind. Maybe a quiet tete-a-tete between the two of them. But not this. Not sitting in a booth, Twyla beside him and two women he’d never seen before sitting across the table from them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been the petite brunette with a scowl on her face who’d spoken. It hadn’t been a question, more of a statement. Or an accusation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… what guy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tall, impossibly pretty blonde with wide blue eyes that seemed far shrewder than she’d have people believe, scoffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, the guy that David talked about, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>all day</span>
  </em>
  <span> yesterday?” This wasn’t a question either, but her voice ticked up at the end of the sentence. Patrick’s eyes widened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David had talked about him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All day. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Oh. Well, I don’t know about that,” he said, his gaze dropping to his hands folded on the table in front of him. He idly picked at a hangnail on his thumb, a swirl of emotions rioting in his chest. “It must not have been good things. He—“ Patrick’s voice wobbled and he swallowed to try and rid himself of the lump in his throat. “—He didn’t seem that happy to see me this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t miss the significant look that passed between the two women across from him. He felt Twyla shift awkwardly in the booth beside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He, uh… he doesn’t remember you,” the brunette said slowly, carefully, her dark brown eyes watching him closely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick frowned. David didn’t remember him? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh huh. Sure.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You know, I may not have a ton of dating experience, but I’m not an idiot,” he said, his voice thick with the sting of David’s rejection. “If he didn’t want to see me again he could have just… he could have found a less humiliating way to tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to get up, to get out of the booth, but Twyla was blocking him in, and despite his desperation to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>get the fuck away</span>
  </em>
  <span> from this place, away from these women sent to do David’s dirty work, he was his mother’s son and was not about shove Twyla out of the way. “Could you… I need to go. I don’t want to hear anymore of this”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Twyla remained where she was. “Patrick, please,” she said softly, pleadingly. “Just let them explain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced over at the other two women. The brunette looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. The blonde was anxiously twirling a strand of silky hair between her fingers, her eyes fixed on him. Watching him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let out a sigh and slumped back against the cheap vinyl of the booth. “Fine. Explain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde seemed to relax slightly, letting her hair fall from her fingers, closing instead around the violently green smoothie on the table in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so I feel like we need to go back, to explain a few things about David. About our family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re related to David?” Patrick asked. He’d assumed the other woman - the one with the same dark colouring as David, the same scowl - might have been some kind of relation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alexis Rose,” the blond replied,holding out a limp hand for him to shake. “David is my brother. My much </span>
  <em>
    <span>older</span>
  </em>
  <span> brother,” she said with a… was that supposed to be a wink? Patrick wasn’t sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah. And you are?” he turned to the brunette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His best friend,” she said sharply, her dark eyes still assessing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I’m not getting a name, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes. “Stevie,” she grumbled begrudgingly, but her eyes seemed to soften just a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mkay, so like, my dad used to be like, a pretty big name in video rentals,” Alexis said, plucking at the straw sticking out of the top of her smoothie and using it to swirl the contents of her cup. “You may have heard of—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rose Video!” Patrick gasped. “Oh my God. I used to work for a Rose Video, back in high school.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm… cute,” Alexis said, staring at Patrick impatiently, as if she was wondering if he was going to keep interrupting her story. “Anyway, so like, long story short, it turned out that my dad’s business manager was like, a super shady guy, and he took like, all of our money and left us with </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well not… surely not </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing but about a thousand suitcases filled with designer clothes, and this town,” Stevie supplied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh! It wasn’t that many!” Alexis scoffed in Stevie’s direction. Then she turned back to Patrick. “It wasn’t that many.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was a lot,” Stevie pressed, a small smirk toying at the corners of her lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alexis widened her eyes in annoyance and flipped her long blonde locks in Stevie’s face before continuing. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said through almost gritted teeth,” We wound up here, living in Stevie’s motel, and we had to like, start over. Like, from scratch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That must have been hard,” Patrick said, genuinely sympathetic. As someone who had recently chosen to uproot his own life, he knew that starting over wasn’t easy. He couldn’t imagine how awful it must have been for the Roses to have that change forced on them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alexis looked at him thoughtfully. “It was,” she began, “It was, like, the hardest thing. But,” she smiled a dazzling smile, “It was also like, super good for us? Because we all got to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> each other, you know? Like, we never had to do that before. We just kind of… existed around each other, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick, who had grown up surrounded by his warm, loving parents and his myriad of cousins who were really more like siblings, did not know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His perplexity must have registered on his face, because Stevie jumped in. “Basically, they were all a bunch of selfish monsters when they got here. And now they’re almost like real people, with feelings and everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Stevie actually smiled at him. A real, honest-to-goodness smile that made her dark features light up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah. Gotcha,” Patrick smiled back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, rude, Stevie.” Alexis flapped a hand in Stevie’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But accurate,” Stevie replied, standing her ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but what does any of this have to do with David not remembering me?” Patrick asked, hoping to get the two women back on track. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh! I’m getting there!” Alexis wailed, glaring at Stevie. “If some people would stop interrupting…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be my guest,” Stevie said with a magnanimous wave of her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. So…” Alexis huffed and stirred the contents of her smoothie agitatedly around in her cup. “We were all settling in. We all found our </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Our mom got involved in the town council, dad runs the motel with Stevie now, and I went back to school to get my degree in Public Relations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick nodded along. “And David?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two women shared a look. “David decided to open a store. When the old General Store closed, he took over the lease for the building,” Stevie explained. “He renamed it Rose Apothecary and…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And?” Patrick prompted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s when he had his accident,” Twyla said softly beside him. Patrick jumped, he’d forgotten she was there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An accident? W-what kind of accident.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The bad kind,” Stevie said, her expression solemn. “He was running errands, picking up some products from one of his vendors.” She paused and bit her lip, blinking back tears. “He, uh… it was a drunk driver. Hit him head on. The driver didn’t make it. David did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was in a coma for four months,” Twyla explained quietly, neither Alexis nor Stevie apparently up to the task of reliving the details of David’s injury. “And when he woke up, he didn’t remember the accident, which the doctors said was normal. But after a few weeks, the doctors realized that not only could David not remember the accident, but he wasn’t making any new memories.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick frowned. “So… what does that… what are you saying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s like every night, David’s brain resets,” Stevie said, her tone flat, emotionless. “He wakes up every morning thinking it’s still </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> day - the day of the accident. He gets up, comes to the cafe for his coffee and to read his book until he goes back to the store to unpack more products and set up displays. Just like he did that day. And then he drives out to the farm to pick up the alpaca throws, just like he did that day. He was on his way back from the farm when he… when it happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t…” Patrick’s voice trailed off and he shook his head. His brain couldn’t seem to compute what they were saying. “I don’t understand. But he said… he said he ran a business? How is he… how can the business…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was just about to open the store,” Twyla supplied. “David was talking about having some kind of launch—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A soft launch,” Alexis said, a gentle fondness to her voice. “Like Gwyneth did with Goop.” She stared at Patrick as if he was supposed to understand what words like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gwyneth</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Goop</span>
  </em>
  <span> were supposed to mean. “He was going to have a soft launch, for friends and family only. But somehow everybody heard about it and was planning on coming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was so excited. And so nervous,” Stevie added, wiping discreetly at her eyes. “He said the store was the first thing he’d ever done in his life that he was truly proud of. And no one ever got to see it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was an ache deep in Patrick’s chest at the thought of David spending every day getting ready for a business that would never open, setting up displays that no one would ever see, of products that no one would ever buy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what… but how… I mean, the lease… that’s not… how has no one taken the lease back from him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alexis smiled a sad smile. “I said we came here after everything had been taken from us,” she said. “And that we’d each found our way. Well…” she shrugged her shoulders. “My dad and Stevie expanded the Rosebud Motel into a franchise that’s doing, like, really well. My mom went back into acting and has become quite the sensation in the B-Movie industry. And I… well I’m lucky that I can do a lot of work for my PR company remotely. I only have to travel when it’s really necessary.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We all contribute to an account, held in trust, for David,” Stevie said. “The money in the trust goes to pay his lease, his tab here at the cafe, any other expenses he needs. He actually doesn’t spend much these days. He’s too… he’s focused on getting his store up and running. A few supplies, gas for his car, pizza...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um… but how do you keep it up? How does he not catch on that something isn’t right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It took us a while to figure it out, to find a way that worked for him and for us,” Alexis said, twisting the straw in her smoothie. “Every night, when he’s done puttering around in the store for the day, one of us - me, Stevie, my mom or dad, Twyla… there’s a bunch of us that help - will go into the store to put everything back. We repack whatever he put out that day, reset everything to just how it was the night before the accident,” Alexis explained. “The alpaca farmer has a small supply of the blankets that are boxed up, so when David goes there, he brings the box back to the store, and every few days, one of us will drive back out and take the boxes back to the farm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So David can go and pick them up again,” Patrick finished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Alexis agreed with a nod of her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We replace the pages in his notebook with fresh pages, top up his shampoo, conditioner, face-stuff, put gas in his car...” Stevie carried on, listing things on her fingers as she went. “We stopped letting him carry his bank card a long time ago - it’s just easier for the Trust to settle up with the cafe and anyone else directly every month.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick shook his head slowly, his brain still struggling to put all of this information together. “And how long… I mean, you guys have a pretty in-depth and time consuming system here. How long have you been… has it been since… since the accident?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alexis and Stevie both dropped their eyes to the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two years,” Twyla whispered quietly in Patrick’s ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two years?!?” Patrick exclaimed loudly. He gaped at Twyla, at Stevie and Alexis. “This has been going on for </span>
  <em>
    <span>two years</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They nodded their heads.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And this… it works? For him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three women shared a look. “Most of the time, yeah, it does.” Stevie’s chin jutted out defiantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what about the times when it doesn’t?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those are—“ Alexis’s voice caught on her words, her large blue eyes suddenly glistening with tears. “Those days are hard,” she finished softly. “Really, really hard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, Patrick understood. The flash of anger in David’s eyes. The confusion. Today had been a hard day. Patrick had upset the delicate balance of David’s carefully crafted life, made his train skid off the tracks, as it were. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I made today a hard day, didn’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twyla placed her hand on Patrick’s arm. “It’s only for a little while,” she said quietly. “He won’t remember it tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow that made Patrick feel worse. That David had made such an impact on him, but he wouldn’t even be a blip on David’s radar tomorrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And yesterday? Was that a hard day too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three women were silent for an uncomfortably long time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yesterday was the happiest I’ve seen my brother since the accident.” Alexis said softly. She was staring at Patrick now, her expression unreadable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I stopped by the store to check on him, and he was humming. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Humming</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” She shook her head in disbelief and swirled her straw around in her smoothie. “My brother doesn’t hum, Patrick. He doesn’t smile. H-he just… he hasn’t for a long time, anyway. Long before we came here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Um…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He literally would not stop talking about you. Like, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole</span>
  </em>
  <span> day,” Alexis went on, scrunching up her nose. “To be honest, it was getting to be like, super gross.” She did that weird thing again, where Patrick wasn’t sure if she was winking at him or just had something in her eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick didn’t know what to say to that. To any of it really. David didn’t remember him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember him. But he’d thought about Patrick that day. The same day Patrick’s mind had been stuck on David, David’s had been stuck on him. The thought made Patrick incredibly happy. And indescribably sad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, I thought about him all day too,” he admitted finally, feeling his cheeks flush with heat. “That’s why… when he came in today and was… I mean, I had no idea. It’s just…” He paused and huffed out a sigh. “What am I supposed to do now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced up to see Alexis looking back at him with wide, watery eyes. “Um, if it helps… it probably won’t, but… he was really looking forward to seeing you. Last night when he was getting ready for bed he just… he was so flustered, it was actually kind of adorable. You made him really happy yesterday, Patrick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I didn’t make him happy today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alexis shook her head. “No. But that’s… you get used to it, after a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick nodded his head. A strange tightness had taken hold of his chest. “Um… I think… I think I need to go,” he said, turning to Twyla. “Can I… I need some fresh air.”</span>
</p>
<p><span><br/></span>Twyla scooted out of the booth and Patrick got to his feet. He wanted to run for the door. He needed to get out of here. His head was swirling with everything Alexis and Stevie and Twyla had told him. But before he took off, he paused and turned back to the table. “Um, David is really lucky to have you,” he said softly. “I hope you know that, even if he doesn’t.”</p>
<p>
  <span>Stevie averted her eyes and nodded. Alexis smiled sadly back at him. </span>
</p>
<p>“Thank you for telling me,” Patrick continued. “I know you didn’t have to and this is probably not the easiest thing to talk about. But… it helps to know that… that I didn’t… that he doesn’t…” His voice faltered and he stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I just need some time with all of this. But… I mean… I’d like to see him again. If you think it would help.”</p>
<p>Without waiting for a response, Patrick turned and was out the door, standing on the patio in front of the cafe. He took in a deep breath, then another. His head felt less crowded, but he knew that he still had a lot of thinking to do. He got into his car and opened the glove box. His first day in town, Ray had given him a map of local hiking trails. </p>
<p>Right now, what Patrick needed was to burn off his nervous energy, and hiking always helped him clear his head and arrange his thoughts. He found a trail that was fairly close by and that didn’t look too difficult.</p>
<p>He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, pointing his car in the direction of Rattlesnake Point.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ugh, exposition, am I right? There was a lot of information Patrick needed to get, and exposition is not my favourite thing. I’ve tried not to be too hand-wavey with things, and to try to keep things lighthearted in the spirit of the film. </p>
<p>*fingers crossed*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. He’s Waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“David is being weird,” she said finally. She picked up the paperweight again and turned it over in her hands, her eyes focused on the tiny image of the titular falls etched into the glass orb. </p><p>“Oh. Um… I’m sorry to hear that.” Patrick glanced down at his clasped hands. He picked at the callous on his thumb. He could feel Stevie’s eyes on him again and he looked up to find her staring at him intently. “Um, what’s… how… what do you mean by weird?”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been a week since that morning in the cafe. Patrick hadn’t been back since, not quite ready to run into Twyla, Alexis, Stevie or, God forbid, David. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wanted to see David again. He wanted it so badly. But he just couldn’t. Not yet. He didn’t trust himself to not fuck it up again. He couldn’t bear the burden of knowing that he had caused David to have another hard day. He knew that David wouldn’t remember it, but knowing that it would cause his friends and family extra work, extra worry… Patrick couldn’t do that to them. Not now. Not now that he knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he stayed in his office at Ray’s. He hiked. He went the long way around town to Brebner’s for groceries instead of going up Main Street and having to pass by the old General Store - now rebranded Rose Apothecary - where he knew David would be puttering around inside. This morning, he thought he’d been brave enough to chance it. Patrick had driven past the store for the first time in a week and caught a glimpse of David through the open front door, watched him smile to himself as he sketched something in a leather bound notebook, bopping his head along to music that Patrick couldn’t hear. Knowing that tomorrow, whatever David had been drawing would be gone - ripped out of that journal like it had never existed - made a hard lump rise up in Patrick’s throat and he’d had to park his car around the corner until his eyes were no longer blurred with tears. He still wasn’t ready. Not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’d pulled himself together enough to drive,  he’d headed back to Ray’s and Googled </span>
  <em>
    <span>Short Term Memory Loss, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but the articles he found didn’t sound like what David had. He thought for a moment and then started typing again: </span>
  <em>
    <span>No new memories.</span>
  </em>
  <span> An article popped up on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anterograde Amnesia. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He skimmed the article. Phrases like </span>
  <em>
    <span>hippocampus </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>traumatic head injury</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>inability to form new memories while long term memories remain intact </span>
  </em>
  <span>seemed more in line with what Stevie and Alexis has explained to him. He fell down a Google rabbit hole for several hours until he’d printed a stack of articles at least an inch thick on causes and treatments of anterograde amnesia. He sat staring at the pile of papers and his heart sank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Roses would already know all of this. David had been injured over two years ago. There was no way that his doctors hadn’t already explored these options and discarded them. Patrick’s stomach cramped and he let his head fall forward onto the pillow of papers strewn across his desk with a muted thunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Working hard? Or hardly working?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick’s head shot up off his desk, startled by the unexpected voice. Stevie stood in front of him, hands on her hips and a wry smile on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither. Both?” Patrick replied, grabbing up his papers and tapping the ends on his desk to straighten his untidy piles before stuffing them in a drawer. “H-how did you know where to find me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stevie shrugged and dropped down into the chair across from him, dragging the strap of her messenger bag over her head and setting it down on the floor beside her. “It’s a small town. And Ray’s a big talker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick chuckled and nodded his head, his hands clasped together in front of him. “He is that.” He smiled nervously, uncomfortable under Stevie’s watchful gaze. “Um… can I… can I help you with something? Need some business advice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stevie drew her legs up to sit cross legged on the chair. She reached out and grabbed the glass paperweight Patrick’s parents had brought back from their trip to Niagara Falls last year. She held it in her hand, seeming to gauge its heft, then set it back down again. They sat in awkward silence for several long minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David is being weird,” she said finally. She picked up the paperweight again and turned it over in her hands, her eyes focused on the tiny image of the titular falls etched into the glass orb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Um… I’m sorry to hear that.” Patrick glanced down at his clasped hands. He picked at the callous on his thumb. He could feel Stevie’s eyes on him again and he looked up to find her staring at him intently. “Um, what’s… how… what do you mean by </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stevie set the paperweight back on the desk with a dull thud. “I can’t explain it, really. I mean, he’s pretty weird on the best of days. But he just seems really…” She paused, scrunching her face up with the effort of finding the right word. “He seems lonely. Which, if you knew David, you’d know that he prefers to be alone, or with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘carefully curated collection of people’—“</span>
  </em>
  <span> she made air quotes with her fingers, “— which means basically me or Alexis. Sometimes Twyla.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Patrick said, his tone encouraging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But since meeting you… he just… I think… I think he misses you.”</span>
</p><p>Patrick blinked stupidly, his mouth fell open, and he shook his head. “But… but I thought… you said he couldn’t…”</p><p>
  <span>“I know!” Stevie threw her arms up in the air in a gesture of exasperated frustration. “It’s… Alexis thinks I’m crazy. Because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember you. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember you. We brought up your name in conversation just to see, and he said he didn’t know anyone named Patrick!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And ouch. That hurt. It hurt a lot more than Patrick could have ever predicted. Not that Patrick had expected her to say otherwise, but hearing it out loud like that felt like an ice cold claw had just reached into his chest and squeezed his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. So he doesn’t remember me. But he misses me? How does that work?” Patrick crossed his arms protectively over his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stevie shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea! I don’t just know what else it could be. He’s fine when he gets up in the morning, fine when he leaves for the cafe. But Twyla says he just sits there, doesn’t read his book. He just waits.” Stevie looked pointedly at Patrick. She reached out and nudged the paper weight an inch to the left. “Once he leaves the cafe, he goes to the store and just draws in his journal. He’s stopped doing his usual routine. And to be frank, he’s a bigger pain in the ass than usual for the rest of the day.” She paused and moved the paperweights back to its original position. “Twyla asked him this morning what he was waiting for. She said he got this confused, sad look on his face, and then he said he didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…” Patrick trailed off. He desperately wanted to ask the question, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer. “You think he’s—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think he’s waiting for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick nodded his head slowly and chewed thoughtfully on his lip, his mind a confusing whirl. David </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember him. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patrick, his life has been pretty much exactly the same for two years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I remember. You told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“During that entire time, absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>has changed in his life. Nothing. Except </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it was. Patrick closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids. Jesus, Patrick.</span>
  <em>
    <span> You sat down in that booth to satisfy your own goddamn curiosity, and you’ve ruined this poor man’s life. And he’ll never understand why because he’ll never remember you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That… no. Stevie, that can’t… that can’t be true.” Patrick desperately wanted it to be true. But if it was true, it was so desperately unfair. That icy claw was reaching for his heart again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s only one way to find out,” Stevie said softly, and Patrick pried his hands from his face and saw that her expression was suddenly hopeful. “Please, Patrick? If I’m wrong, it’s one day. You never have to see him again. But if I’m right…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re right, then what?” Patrick snapped, surprised at the vehemence in his own voice. “I just go on my merry way, knowing that he’ll be there again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that? And he’ll be so sad and he won’t know why? And I’m just supposed to be okay with that?” Stevie opened her mouth, but Patrick held up a hand to silence her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Or,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he went on, “I just give up on the rest of my own life and have coffee every morning with a man who will never be able to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To what?” Stevie pressed, leaning forward in her chair. “To </span>
  <em>
    <span>what, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Patrick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To have the same feelings for me as I… as I have for him!” Patrick shouted, pounding a fist on his desk, sending a pencil rolling to the floor. “You can’t ask me to do that. I don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you know you like him,” Stevie replied quietly. “And I know that he liked you. A lot. And some part of him - I don’t know how or why - but some part of him remembers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick crossed his arms across his chest again, shaking his head. “And if I do this, if I see him again and it doesn’t work - if he’s still </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘being weird’ - </span>
  </em>
  <span>then what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then there’s no harm done. But you’ll know that you tried.”</span>
</p><p>They sat in silence again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. This time there was a tension in the room, sizzling just around the edges. </p><p>
  <span>“You know you can’t keep it up forever,” Patrick said, his voice stark against the silence. “One day, he’s going to wake up and look in the mirror and see an old man. And he’s not going to have any idea how he got there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stevie laughed, but there was no humour to it. “You don’t think we’ve thought about that?” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “Believe me, we are all </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> aware that that’s the direction we’re headed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And…” Stevie’s defiant attitude seemed to shrink away and she slumped back heavily into her chair. “And there’s no right answer. His doctors say that his condition is permanent. So for now, we’re just trying to help him have the best life possible. We know it won’t last forever. And on… on the hard days, sometimes… sometimes we have to tell him what happened. What we do for him every day. And he made us promise…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise what?” Patrick asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sniffled and dropped her gaze to her lap. “That if we’re still doing all this for him in 10 years, then we’ll stop.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll just stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what he wants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick swallowed the uncomfortable lump that had suddenly materialized in his throat. “And what would happen to David? If you all stopped?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stevie gave a dejected shrug. “He’d have to go somewhere. A facility. Maybe a group home,” she explained. “Someplace where they can look after him. Where they take care of people… like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrixk reached up to touch his face. His fingers came away wet. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” he breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Stevie agreed, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick grabbed a tissue from the box on the credenza behind him, offering it to Stevie although it was already too late for her poor sleeve. He plucked a tissue from the box and mopped up his face, blew his nose. He crumpled it in his hand and tossed it into the garbage can beside his desk. Then he looked at Stevie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I’ll help you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry. Just a bit more exposition. And also, feelings! Thanks for coming back for more. And stay safe out there, frans.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This started out as a cute idea in our little Prompt Jukebox. And now it’s this. Clearly, we have a long way to go. I have never done an AU before so I am like, ridiculously nervous. Plus, 50 First Dates is one of my all time favourite movies. So I hope I do it justice.</p><p>Thanks to ladyflowdi for the awesome prompt!</p><p>If you’re not already, come and chat with me on Tumblr @delilah-mcmuffin</p><p>Until next time,</p><p>D McM</p></blockquote></div></div>
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